Empire of Storms

Dramatic rescues give him purpose and fulfillment in his dull, immortal life.”

“The Wolf of the North.” The sneer deepened. “And the fire-breathing bitch herself.”

Dorian nodded his thanks. “The first time you met Aelin, did you know … ?”

A snort. “No. Gods, no. We wanted to kill each other.”

His magic had felt the bond between Aelin and Rowan—the bond that went deeper than blood, than their magic, and he’d assumed it was just that they were mates, and hadn’t announced it to anyone. But if Rowan already had a mate, and had lost her…

“They say the kingsflame bloomed once during Orlon’s reign,” Aedion mused. “Just one blossom, found in Oakwald.”

“You would be the undisputed queen if you got the kingsflame to bloom again.”

She’d forgotten how much taller he was. Face-to-face, Dorian panted as he stared down at her and breathed, “Hello, witchling.”

Some ancient, predatory part of her awoke at the half smile. It sat up, cocking its ears toward him. Not a whiff of fear. Interesting.

Manon purred back, “Hello, princeling.”

More blood and chunks of wyvern and witch fell to the ground, all coated with ice so thick they shattered upon the courtyard flagstones.

And as the dead meat rained down, thudding on the castle grounds,
as their blood misted the air …

Ice and wind tore into them, shredding through beast and rider.